A free-verse tale of youthful determination
Dedicated to the memory of pioneer Roger Peyrefitte.
Bent double, my knobby knees knocked from nerves – he thought.
I coughed and cussed.
Of course, my back was turned his way.
Hands on me, a finger, then two worked in, you know where.
I sneezed and cussed.
My soft behind sensed his joy at fumbling to fit.
I heard his zipper, felt his juiced-up thing
Press its way to plunge, to gutter me.
I coughed and cussed.
Arms, hands squeezing my ribs; his chin, lips, tongue to my nape and ears
Were a smothering dream – his own.
Flinging himself into me, drowning my tailpipe in cum,
It made me cough and sneeze.
At every jolt, I writhed and clutched and gave him my best – he thought.
He gargled obscenities of passion and love and ever so desperate glory.
I sneezed and coughed and cussed.
His zest paced slower as lust gave up.
He pulled away, blessing the day, and handed me twice my fee.
I coughed and cussed.
We parted as friends – he thought.
I smiled and cleared my throat, blew my nose,
Stashed the cash, pulled up my pants and –
You know – thus-lubed, went home to Papa
For a capsule of cherry cold-syrup and
For a proper
Fuck.
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